In the midst of the ugly scenes at West Ham this weekend, an ingenious fan-made solution to one of the many, many problems with the London Stadium was put into practice, as usual. More often than not, West Ham play so limply and the crowd atmosphere in response so negative that disheartened fans start leaving the ground at any point from 55 minutes onwards, thus avoiding the logistical nightmare of funnelling 57,000 spectators all at once after the final whistle into one ridiculously busy train station. Instead, fans get to disperse in manageable, disappointed dribs and drabs into the neon nothingness of Stratford.

My seven-year-old son, "senior" ticket-holder dad and I made it to a respectable 70 minutes before leaving Saturday's game against Burnley. Just after the first pitch invasion and second goal, and before the two subsequent pitch invasions, third goal and coin-chucking protest at the directors' box. As a consolation, we did manage to see a scrap between a steward and a middle-aged fan on our way out of the ground.

To be honest, for most of us at the game, the trouble really wasn't as bad as it looked in the press and on TV. Farce rather than tragedy. I'm not condoning it in any way; in fact, other than playing Joe Hart in goal, I can think of few less helpful things in a relegation battle than a moronic handful of fans walking on the pitch, disrupting a game, unnerving an already very shaky team and almost guaranteeing the loss of three points. But it doesn't represent a return to hooliganism, or even a club that is out of control, just an embarrassment to West Ham United and an unnecessary distraction from the real issues at hand: the building of a poor, unbalanced team; a perfectly "OK" but not exactly lovable manager being parachuted in mid-season; and a board who can't build any rapport with their fans.

But, really, what is so unusual about those issues? West Ham have been relegated from the top division roughly every seven or eight years since I started supporting them in the early Nineties (which means, statistically, that however unwelcome it shouldn't be totally unexpected if we were to go down) and I can think of more clubs with fans who loathe their owners than fans who love their owners.

Hard-nosed as it is, money would go a long way to transforming the footballing atmosphere - the owners needed to spend more, and more wisely, and then spend some more again if they really want to transform our fortunes. That's football. But changing the owners, kicking out the board? Having spoken to fans of Charlton (currently residing in League One) and Leyton Orient (Conference Premier), I'm tempted to say: better the devil you know.

I heard a hysterical football radio pundit this weekend say that there was no way on earth that he would dare take his child into the danger of the London Stadium. Do me a favour! It was awkward to watch, deeply uncomfortable and frightening for young fans near the pathetic protest, and bewildering that the stadium stewarding team had no idea whose responsibility it was to get the invaders off the pitch. But we shouldn't overstate it. In a way, I suppose it's good that these scenes are seen as so shocking nowadays - I used to see a lot worse from the old North Bank at the Boleyn Ground and I've experienced much worse atmospheres in pubs while watching football on a Saturday afternoon than I felt during the game against Burnley. But I really think we need to get some perspective.

It's a bad atmosphere all right, but not for reasons of thuggery. It's not even simply the fault of the practicalities of the ground itself - more the unmistakable lack of any footballing aura. So when things inevitably don't go our way on the pitch, we don't even have the comfort of the old, familiar, pride-inducing surrounds to fall back on.

Being further away from the pitch is not nearly as bad as some would have you believe (though some joke it's nice to keep further away from the dross on the pitch). You can always get a pint within two minutes of queuing and, likewise, you can get to the loo and they don't resemble those on day three of Glastonbury. If the singing starts and the noise builds, the ground can still be electric. When Andy Carroll scored his textbook bicycle kick against Crystal Palace last year, when we stood firm to beat Chelsea 1-0 earlier this season, and when we turned it on for a space of ten minutes to easily triumph against Watford only a month ago, you couldn't beat it. But those moments are just too few and far between. In fact, they might be just about it.

And therein lies the problem. This place, the London Stadium, just has no good footballing associations with it yet. If it were a nightclub - and you were so inclined - you'd say it has a bad vibe. It does. If things aren't going our way after about 20 minutes (which, with a midfield and defence as slow and haphazard as ours, is often), the crowd gets restless and the tension builds and builds, often until we concede. The London Stadium holds no great memories, has no spirit. But it's ours now, or as much as it ever will be ours, and Upton Park isn't even standing any more, so there's no going back ever. What I do know is: supporters coming on to the pitch to be wrestled by our captain or to plant a corner flag in the centre circle, or more idiotic mid-game protests will give us only bad memories.